


in the midst of your dying

by carnyvale



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24767998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnyvale/pseuds/carnyvale
Summary: you've already found a heart in which to live.The peril of holding on to a ghost and refusing to see what you already have in front of you, as told by one Tsukishima Kei.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	in the midst of your dying

**Author's Note:**

> i love inception au. that's it. :))

.

"This isn’t about me." Kei coughs in between inhales, licks the tell-tale red smear at the corner of his lips discreetly because their time hasn’t run out. Not yet. They’re three levels deep and the bullet that punctured his stomach doesn’t care what would happen to him if he dies here. "You should concentrate on making sure he takes to the idea."

Ushijima's palm slides over the side of the table, nails biting into the edge. He favours Kei with a glance, dark eyes flashing. The building groans around them, a warning to the shifting of the equilibrium, and both of them step away from the table. Ushijima frowns in disapproval at Kei.

"You're going to die."

The floor starts tilting and Kei has to fight to stay on his feet. Ushijima notices, of course, and the look on his face tells of an grudging understanding that a premature end for one of them is a risk they just have to accept. Kei checks his watch, presses a palm against the damp patch on his suit and smiles. Closes his eyes, fingers curling around his totem as the world tilts even further. "Stick to the plan, Ushijima-san."

.

“Where’s Tsukki?” Kuroo’s face is pinched tight, brows furrowed. He looks around, as if convinced that Kei’s lurking somewhere in the depth of the half-lit room. Playing hide and seek on borrowed time. “Wasn’t he with you?”

Ushijima’s expression betrays nothing when he brushes past Kuroo, but the line of his jaw flexes. Weakening, for a mayfly lifespan, before he is solid again. “Stick to the plan.”

.

_[ “I’ll find you.” ]_

_Kei doesn’t remember who said that to him._

_He looks out of the window and it’s already winter, a light flurry battering against the window. His arthritic fingers trail over the tiny boxes of the day’s crossword puzzle, half the answers already pencilled in. He folds the newspaper with a sigh, deciding to keep the rest for just before bedtime, and places it right next to his coffee. That’s when he notices that there are two mugs on the table. He lives alone in this little cottage at the edge of a postcard-perfect village, has been for the past fifty two years. He stares at the extra mug for a few minutes, puzzled. It’s half empty and is still steaming gently._

_He doesn’t remember making coffee._

_[ “I’ll find you.” ]_

_Kei takes the mugs to the sink and pours the coffee out. His memory slips and slides nowadays, and he worries that soon, he would go for a walk and wouldn’t be able to find the way back._

_[ “I promise.” ]_

_His fingers ache like an old wound. Kei fixes his glasses and frowns down at them._

_The light overhead flickers._

.

The job ends and they’re getting double-crossed. Kei wouldn’t have thought it possible – he’d vetted everyone through the usual channels, cleared background checks with extreme prejudice before he accepted the offer to be their architect. There’s a reason he’s one of the best in the business: he doesn’t take unnecessary risks. Guess his luck had finally run out after all these years. Dishant, their chatty, irreverent point-man, is sprawled out on the floor after catching a bullet in the brainpan. His blood gleams a sickly red under the bright fluorescent lights overhead. His eyes are wide open, frozen in an expression of surprise, and he’s looking straight at Kei.

 _Tough fucking luck_ , the dead says. Kei feels the weight of his totem against his collarbone and he knows: there’s no waking up from this. _See you on the flip side, firefly_.

Kei hears Valerie’s footsteps, coming closer each second. She wears heels sharp enough that she wouldn’t have needed the gun. He forces his eyes away from Dishant when she croons, poison-sweet, “Tsukishima, _baby_. Why don’t you be a darling and step out, hm? I’ll make it quick if you don’t waste my time.”

The upturned table offers little protection, but it’s better than nothing. Kei presses a hand to his shoulder and it comes away wet with blood. He looks up and sees Valerie, sees the gun.

“It’s nothing personal.” Her head tilts as she lifts a foot and digs the very pointy end of her heel into the hole punched through his shoulder. Kei jerks and has to bite his lip to stop a scream from spilling over his throat. He tastes blood when she leans in harder. Her grin is piranha-like. Too many teeth. “Just business, baby.”

He takes in short, wheezing breaths and wishes she would stop calling him ‘baby’. He raises his other hand and curls blood-slick fingers around her ankle, glaring at her. “Go to hell.”

The barrel of her gun doesn’t waver when she blows him a kiss. “You first. Say ‘hello’ to Aki for me, won’t you?”

A single gunshot rings around them. Kei hasn’t closed his eyes, determined to stare Valerie down as she puts him out of his misery but he’s still drawing breath after the gunshot. Painful ones, but very much alive. Valerie, on the other hand, sways for a bit, before pitching back. Crumpling to the floor, much like Dishant did minutes ago and isn’t retribution wonderful. Kei looks to the side to see the impassive façade of Ushijima Wakatoshi staring down at him.

The extractor had left right after they’d kicked out of their target’s dream, something about another job on the other side of the planet. Kei had watched the older man walk out of the warehouse before packing up their little station, waiting for the timer to run down on the PASIV. Fifteen minutes later, Valerie shot Dishant. And then their target. Bang bang, two down.

She’d also shot Kei clean through the shoulder in her bid to win The Worst Team Member of the Decade award.

Logistically, Ushijima shouldn’t be here.

It might be the blood loss talking, but Kei hears himself say, almost accusatory, “You said you had a plane to catch.”

Ushijima is staring at Valerie’s body and Kei isn’t sure if he’s being intentionally ignored. He slips his gun into its holster and steps closer to hover over Kei. “I should be able to make it if I leave right now.”

Kei blinks in an attempt to clear the dark spots creeping into his vision. He doesn’t succeed much. “Call an ambulance on your way out, thank you very much.”

Ushijima doesn’t make any move. There are three dead bodies in the warehouse and Kei’s about to be the fourth if this conversation doesn’t wrap up soon. He’s grappling at staying conscious when he hears Ushijima say, “This is a mess.”

Kei uses the last dredge of his strength to roll his eyes. “Thank you for noticing, Ushijima-san. It’s all part of my grand plan to make you miss your flight.”

He can’t be certain, but he thinks he feels Ushijima’s arms around him as he sinks into the waiting embrace of darkness.

.

Kei wakes up in a small, dingy room and the first thing he does is check his totem.

Once he’s convinced he’s not in a dream, he puts on his glasses and looks around. A block of dim, grey light from the open window sets the time at nothing at all – could be dusk, could be dawn. If he squints, he can make out a faint outline of the surrounding buildings. Nothing familiar. His wound had been cleaned and dressed. He can feel stitches pulling at raw skin when he pushes himself up, sitting with his back against the headboard. Kei’s swinging his feet onto the floor when the door opens, and a boy walks in, carefully balancing a tray in his small hands. The boy makes a quiet noise of surprise when he sees Kei awake and offers him the content of the tray. A thin vegetable soup and a glass of water. Slices of hard bread. The boy doesn’t speak any English and Kei cycles through all the languages he knows until the boy’s face lights up when he lands on Polish.

He murmurs, “ _Wszystko w porządku, jesteś już bezpieczna_ ,” and then runs off to get his grandfather in the next room.

Kei spies his phone on the bedside table. A couple of messages sit in his inbox.

_I made the flight._

And another: _Plan better in the future._

Kei thumbs his phone off, presses a bit too hard as annoyance swells at the back of his head. He drags the tray closer and dunks a piece of bread into the soup to stop from thinking about all the dead bodies he’d left behind.

.

Summer in Japan gets hotter and hotter, and there are signs that this year’s only going to get worse. The girl hands the cup of gelato over with her best customer service smile and Kei nods his thanks, struggles for a bit to take his card out of his wallet one-handed. She bestows him a sympathetic smile and asks why his other hand’s in a sling.

“Fell down the stairs,” Kei deadpans. His gelato’s melting in the time it takes for him to add, “It was a very long flight of stairs.”

The girl hesitates to laugh, perhaps thinks he’s exaggerating or flirting or both, and Kei goes along with it.

At his side, Yamaguchi starts laughing behind the back of a hand.

.

The phone box is papered with ads, a fresh haphazard layer to hide the peeling, yellowing papers underneath. Kei stares at the picture of a scantily-clad redhead ( _Call the number below and I’ll make your wildest dreams come true, baby!_ ) as he waits for the call to go through. When the dial tone abruptly stops and there’s only silence from the other end, he says, “The extractor for my team pulled out last minute and our point-man’s about to burst a blood vessel trying to find an emergency replacement.”

The silence stretches for a few more seconds. “ _Email me the details._ ”

Kei nods at no one and the line goes dead. His phone vibrates in his pocket.

The text message reads, _Glasses-kun, is there a reason why our dear Wakatoshi’s ditching his home team to play house with you? *eggplant emoji *sweat droplets emoji_

There’s not a day goes by that Kei doesn’t regret giving Tendou his personal number.

.

Taiwan isn’t part of his travel plan. Kei meets Ushijima there anyway. He finds a hotpot restaurant with reasonable Yelp reviews and spends hours trying to determine the exact shade of Ushijima’s eyes. They exchange stories about mutual acquaintances, the best jobs they’d worked and the worst (they don’t mention the shit show in Malapolska and Kei’s grateful). They discuss the rumours that someone had attempted inception and succeeded.

Ushijima’s doubt is palpable enough to be a physical force; Kei isn’t so sure. 

“If they have a chemist who can come up with a compound capable of putting them under and stabilising the levels of dreaming required for the idea to be planted—” Kei argues, skewers a fish ball with his chopsticks, “—it can be done.”

“You’re in a lot of trouble if you die before the timer runs out,” Ushijima points out. He’s not wrong; the threat of dropping into limbo hovers over their heads like the blade of a guillotine.

Kei pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He pops the fish ball into his mouth, sees the way Ushijima’s eyes linger and feels warm all over. “Then don’t die.”

It’s nearly one in the morning when they make their way back to Ushijima’s hotel room.

Kei still doesn’t remember who initiated the kiss, but the heat of Ushijima’s hands over his skin is seared into his mind. As does the absolute certainty in which Ushijima takes him apart, unravelling the seams holding him together.

He wakes up late the morning after, aching all over. The other side of the bed is empty, but the shower’s running and he thinks about what this is supposed to be. He thinks about leaving, and then he thinks about staying. The bruises on his hips are just starting to darken and a part of him likes the way they wear on his too-pale skin. His meandering thought doesn’t get very far, because Ushijima steps out of the bathroom and suddenly, there are more pressing things to attend to. Like the way Ushijima’s eyes go darker, hungrier when he languidly makes his way to the bed. Like the ease in which Ushijima slides his hands over Kei’s thighs, simultaneously gentle and demanding. Parting them and squeezing himself inside, as if he’d always belonged there.

Kei’s chest goes tight, unbearably so, and he’s the first to look away.

.

Yamaguchi flops onto the couch with a grunt, places a bowl of popcorn between them and says, “What happened last time? You went MIA for two months.”

Kei scoots to the other side of the couch to make space for Yamaguchi. Yachi is supposed to join them by now, but she’s running late from her latest gig and had promised to arrive with pizza. Hinata and Kageyama are still holed up somewhere in Siberia the last time they called in, so this little reunion is more bare-boned than previously advertised in their group chat. Kei’s fine with it, although he’d looked forward to making fun of Kageyama’s recent difficulty with a certain member of the Russian royalty. Would’ve made better entertainment than the action movie playing on Yamaguchi’s widescreen TV, which is rife with unnecessary explosions and more plot holes than the average street in Bangkok.

Kei vows to never let Yamaguchi choose again in the future, even if he has to endure Yachi’s obsession with Ghibli movies.

He grabs a handful of popcorn. “Nothing.”

Yamaguchi snorts, disbelieving. “Then why are you sulking?”

“I’m not.”

Yamaguchi waits until the hero had mysteriously lost his shirt while battling off goo-looking aliens before he pokes at the side of Kei’s neck. He waggles his eyebrows. “New boyfriend?”

Kei bats the hand away, wills himself not to flush as he remembers the bruises scattered across his skin. Ushijima hadn’t been gentle; Kei doesn’t want him to. “None of your business.”

“Someone’s gotta be looking out for you and make sure you’re taking care of yourself, Tsukki.”

The way Yamaguchi’s voice softens make Kei’s throat close up. They don’t see each other as often as they should – Yamaguchi knows what he does, vaguely, and he intends to keep him out of his immediate circle. After what happened to his brother, it’s become a prerogative to draw lines that shouldn’t be crossed. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Yamaguchi’s knee nudges against Kei’s. He’s smiling widely, freckles crinkling. “That’s what best friends are for.”

.

“Ushijima-san, this is Tetsurou Kuroo, our forger.” Kei steadfastly refuses to acknowledge Kuroo’s raised eyebrows. Kuroo knows too many of his secrets and while he trusts the older man to keep them, he doesn’t trust Kuroo enough to believe he wouldn’t be cornered about it later. He steers Ushijima away from him. “And this is Akaashi-san. He’s taking point on this job.”

Once the formalities are out of the way, they get to work.

Kei catches Kuroo’s eyes, sees curiosity there. And concern.

Akaashi takes to the board to start briefing them about the COO of a big pharma company they’re going to hijack. It’s supposed to be a quick in-and-out and their chemist’s flying in from Amsterdam in a red-eye the next day, just in time to make the schedule. The weight of Ushijima’s scrutiny feels like fingers skittering over his skin, and if his answers to Akaashi’s question about the layout of the dreams comes out sharper than usual, he blames it on the three cups of coffee he’s had on his way to the site.

Kuroo leans back into his chair and his scrutiny turns thoughtful, calculating. 

Kei likes that even less.

.

Kuroo ambushes him when the rest are gone for the night. Kei could’ve sworn he’d left earlier, but apparently he’d underestimated the lengths Kuroo would go to make his point. The studio they’ve repurposed as control room is quiet and bereft of distractions, offering Kei no escape.

“Whatever happens to not mixing business with pleasure?” Kuroo asks, going straight for the jugular despite the playful tone of his voice.

Kei packs the architectural plans into his bag. He’s going to spend another sleepless night going through them, for the nth times. The PASIV case sits between them like a silent arbiter. “We’re both professionals.”

Kuroo huffs. The rings on his ears glint under the fluorescent light when he tilts his head to study Kei. “You sure you’ve thought this through?”

“We’re professionals,” Kei repeats, though it does little to make him sound more convincing. He turns to stare straight at Kuroo and scrounges up a crooked smile. “There’s no need to be jealous, Kuroo-san. We’re just—” Kei pauses. Swallows. And tries again. “—It means nothing.”

Kuroo looks at Kei as though he’s not sure whether he wants to hug him or wrestle him into a headlock. “You’re a shit liar, Tsukki.”

Kei knows.

.

Kei runs his third red light. Ushijima’s hands twitch where they’re folded on his lap, most probably in disapproval over Kei’s flagrant disregard for traffic rules. They had left Tokyo’s comforting anonymity nearly half an hour ago, heading into the great unknown like this is some kind of a grand, whimsical adventure. It isn’t. It shouldn’t. Kei’s mouth presses into a thin line, but he says nothing because he knows Ushijima wouldn’t be interested anyway. It’s slightly disconcerting how much it bothers him that they haven’t discussed what _this_ is, what they’re doing to each other – a thought best shoved into a neat little box at the back of his mind. Far away from that constant urge to over-analyse everything that’s made Kei so good at his job. A quick glance at Ushijima and he turns his attention back to the road. A winding nothingness framed in the sweep of headlights, swallowed by darkness beyond that.

He has no idea where they are. He doesn’t think he wants to.

“Pretty sure I heard sirens,” Ushijima states, his voice level. In the rearview mirror, everything blurs behind them. Nothing red and blue and he’s almost disappointed. “Maybe you should slow down a little.”

The car swerves sudden and sharp, burning rubber on asphalt as they careen down an empty highway. There hasn’t been another car for the past twenty minutes. The clock on the dashboard reads 12:27. The darkness deepens.

Kei steers with one hand and drags the other through his hair, messing it up even further. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little high speed chase, Ushijima-san.”

“What exactly are we chasing?” Ushijima asks, and Kei has to concede that point. The number on the speedometer climbs past ninety, a hundred. Kei almost startles when Ushijima places a hand on his thigh. He stares straight ahead. “Where are we going?”

They’re at a hundred twenty, a girl on the radio is belting out lines of a love song like she’s never had her heart broken, and Kei lets the steering wheel go. In his peripheral, he catches a glimpse of Akiteru’s exasperated face. “To the end of the world.”

He’s grabbing the lapel of Ushijima’s suit, pulling him close (much, much too close) as the car’s front tires run out of ground and they plunge towards the sharp rocks below.

.

Kei wakes up from the dream and slides the cannula out of his forearm, heading straight for the toilet. Akaashi calls out after him, but he ignores him. Once the door’s locked, he stands by the sink, gripping its yellowish-white porcelain surface tightly. Taking deep, even breaths. Trying to keep himself from throwing up. It’s just one death out of many. He’d died so many times before (and after, if he lives long enough) that there’s no reason for him to get a panic attack over a routine run-through of the set he’d built. Kei clenches and unclenches his hands to stop the shaking and once he has them under control, he turns on the tap. Splashes water onto his face, careful to keep his suit dry. The toilet feels too small, dirty linoleum under his polished shoes and he belatedly discovers that the paper towels had long since run out.

He frowns at the guy staring back at him from the cracked mirror, at the beginning of dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been able to sleep much these days, especially after that fuck-up with Valerie. Second-guessing himself with every job he takes. Losing even more sleep double, triple checking everything. Which is how he ends up working with Akaashi and Kuroo’s crews for the past six months, when he usually pick his way through depending on the requirements. He can almost hear Valerie’s syrupy voice at the back of his head ( _hell’s something you carry around with you, baby, your brother should’ve taught you better_ ). He cups his hands underneath the running tap, ignores how they’ve started to shake again.

He can still feel the residual caress of Ushijima’s lips to his and ignores that too.

Kei walks out of the toilet and sees Akaashi with his head bent over the design for the second level of their dreamscape. He’s talking quietly to Kuroo, using the butt of a pencil to trace a path through the maze Kei had painstakingly drafted. Kei’s distracted by the frown on Akaashi’s face that he’s late to realise Ushijima’s presence at his side. 

“That wasn’t a very pleasant way to die.”

Kei accepts the cup of coffee and curls his hands around it. He drinks it black because Akiteru drank his black. He doesn’t look at Ushijima when he says, “Death rarely is.”

.

They complete the job. Kei stays long enough to make sure the payment goes through, in foreign currencies of his choosing, before he takes the first flight out of the local airport.

His phone vibrates with three messages from the same number. He deletes all of them.

.

Home was a place with houses with neatly-trimmed hedges and convenience stores around every block and quiet streets that ended in places as familiar to him as the back of his hand, with names that he can taste in his sleep. Home was a gentle cold that settles in autumn nightfall and there are times he misses it so much, he’s sick with longing. Kei hadn’t been back for three years. He keeps pictures of that previous lifetime in a box, under his bed after he sold his mother’ place and said goodbye to childhood memories, intent on not looking back. There’s a thick film of dust that leaves streaks on his palm when he opens the box and the first thing he sees are folded volleyball jerseys. His and Akiteru’s.

And then the violin case.

He keeps the jerseys where they are.

It would be too much like an exhumation.

He must’ve drank more than he thought if he’s entertaining macabre sentiments this far away from the anniversary of Akiteru’s disappearance.

It takes some time to convince himself to take the violin out. Goes through the routine of preparation. Hesitates over the first note, the initial contact between his bow and the strings, but it gets easier after. Kei is halfway through a half-remembered composition, muscle memory and instinct taking over despite the years they’ve been apart, when he hears,

“I didn’t know you play.”

Kei stops and lowers the bow. Exhales softly. “Did you really break in when you could’ve just knocked?”

“The door wasn’t locked,” Ushijima says, in that usual straight-faced timbre Kei had come to associate with him and him alone. He moves into the living room, stepping closer under the guise of studying the violin in Kei’s hands. Seconds later, his eyes flicker to Kei’s face, a curious tilt to his mouth. “What piece was that?”

“Mendelssohn’s.” Kei returns the violin to its case once he’d loosened its hair and wiped down the strings, straps everything in and closes the lid gently. He still has his back to Ushijima when he says, “What are you doing here?”

Ushijima is quiet for a while. “I heard about your brother.”

Old wounds. He’s been nursing them so long he doesn’t know what to do with them when they’re bared in the entirety of their ugliness. “You don’t need to concern yourself over that.”

Kei wants to ask why Ushijima is here instead of somewhere else, why he cares when Kei’s sordid past isn’t part of their deal, but holds his tongue in time.

It’s better to not know.

“This was my mother’s. I was supposed to follow in her footstep.” The change of topic surprises Ushijima and Kei grins, intent to not let him take even more from Kei than he already has. “You didn’t think kids grow up wanting to get into dreamshare and its glamorous criminal undertakings, did you?”

Ushijima nods, like the gravity of their chance acquaintance had finally dawned on him. “We wouldn’t have met each other otherwise.”

Kei’s fingers twitch, before he forcefully stretches them. He runs his palm over the violin case again, picks up more dust and wonders if it would hurt more to forget than to remember how his mother used to demand a performance, once every month. The delighted applause he’d get in return and the look of pride on Akiteru’s face. “Probably for the better.”

Within the span of a breath, Ushijima’s so much closer and Kei has to take a half-step back at their sudden proximity. “No.” Ushijima tilts his head, his fingers curling into Kei’s belt loops. Pulling him in. “No, it’s not.”

.

_The E string snaps and Kei almost drops the violin in his surprise, the piece grinding to a screeching halt as his bow skids over the rest. He blinks owlishly at the curl of the string and lowers the violin, and only then does he realise how tired he is. The joints of his fingers are stiff, pain radiating outwards as he flexes them to try and mitigate impending cramps. Old age takes away numerous pleasures in life, but Kei thinks that it’s been kinder to him than most. At least he’s still able to play, albeit for too short of a time before he has to stop. He shuffles to the table to re-string the violin and put it away, groaning when his back joins in the chorus of aches._

_Maybe he should get into bed earlier today, with a couple hot water bottles just in case the weather takes a turn for the worse later._

_Kei’s unwinding the string when he hears it. He straightens, heart hammering inside his chest and mouth going dry._

_That’s Akiteru’s laughter, coming from somewhere inside the cottage._

.

His run of bad luck is starting to get ridiculous.

They do a garden-variety corporate espionage that goes to absolute shits, but at least nobody died this time. The car drops Kei three blocks down from his apartment and he loops back a couple times just to make sure he’s not being followed. His body doesn’t appreciate the exertion and by the time he’s climbing the stairs to his floor, he has one hand pressed firmly against the wall for support. His entire right side throbs, painkillers wearing off at the end of a long, long week. There’s nothing he wants more than to sleep for the next three days. Or three months. His phone chimes, lit screen announcing the arrival of Tanaka and Kiyoko at their safe house. Good. One less thing to worry about. He labours onto the fifth landing, finds the right door and spends a few seconds squinting at his keys. He’s puzzling over them, brain swaddled in cotton and static, when the door swings open.

Slow and quiet until Kei isn’t alone and the world doesn’t look so empty.

Ushijima gives him a critical onceover and says, “Did you get shot again?”

Kei wants to point out that he’d been knifed, _thank you very much_ , but his brain is preoccupied with trying to work out what he’s seeing. And then he remembers that they’d arranged to meet earlier. The beginning of a frown creases his forehead, annoyed at being caught in a disadvantage, but he’s too tired (and in pain) to ask Ushijima to leave. Kei takes a step forward only to stumble and Ushijima catches him with arms wide and ready, somehow managing to keep both of them upright. He’s stronger, built sturdier, and Kei is very appreciative of that fact right now, when the alternative is to crash face-first onto the floor. He curls his fingers into the folds of Ushijima’s shirt and is pulled closer, the door shutting behind them with a decisive snap.

The apartment is dimly-lit, soft glow suffusing the inky darkness with warmth. Ushijima manoeuvres them around silhouettes of furniture until they’re in the bedroom. It shouldn’t surprise Kei that Ushijima’s already made himself at home. Ushijima keeps him standing long enough to start peeling off layers of clothes. The glasses go first, folded and gently placed next to his Pachyrhinosaurus figurine on the bedside table. Then the bespoke suit, lovingly tailored to conceal more than skin and bones. Firearms strapped to pallid skin. His hands hover over bloodstained bandages, Ushijima’s eyes darkening into obsidian-black, before they move elsewhere. Ushijima is quick and precise, clockwork in his efficiency and he coaxes Kei into a soft-worn t-shirt and shorts in minutes.

Kei doesn’t ask how Ushijima knows where to find everything.

“Hey.” He cuts into the silence with a whisper, arms still half-cradled around Kei’s waist. As if he’s afraid that something would break if he lets go. Kei is almost offended. And oddly— grateful. “Let’s get you some sleep, alright?”

He nods, leaning forward until his face is pressed into Ushijima’s shoulder. Ushijima smells like sandalwood. And grass. “Thought you’re in Germany until next week.” He takes a deep breath. “Will I be getting another email from Tendou-san demanding your safe return?”

Ushijima’s hand presses into his back, anchoring Kei in place. “It’s fine. I made it clear that I want to be here.” Something inside Kei’s chest lurches painfully. Ushijima doesn’t notice. _He never does,_ Kei thinks, vindictively. “He wanted to know if you can make it to Goshiki’s surprise birthday party next month.”

It feels too intimate, like they’re in some kind of a domestic arrangement when they aren’t, not really. Kei should push Ushijima away, kick him out of the apartment. Instead, he says,

“We should get him a pony.”

Which makes no sense whatsoever, except that it had sounded hilarious inside Kei’s head. Ushijima’s laughter is warm and languid and hurts more than the blade of a too-sharp knife sliding into Kei’s ribcage.

.

The whiteboard marker squeaks when Kenma circles the word, several times. “Inception.”

Kuroo exchanges a look with Kei, before he says, somewhat bemused, “That’s a word I never thought I’d hear again. Didn’t you say it’s impossible?”

“I said it’s too much work,” Kenma corrects, scratching the back of his neck with his other hand. His hair’s pulled back into a half-ponytail, dyed tips longer than the last time Kei had seen him. “And I would only do it if the money's good."

The money offered is exorbitant. Kei saw the numbers and briefly considered retirement. 

It still doesn't make him feel better about taking all these risks, especially considering the corporation they would be working for. Kei is all jitters as the discussion gets more intense, nerves compounded by trepidation, but he soldiers on regardless. He owes Kuroo too much to refuse when he was asked and just the thought of allowing another architect to take his place makes him vaguely testy. Akiteru once told him that he’s too stubborn for his own good and he hadn’t listened then. Not going to start now. He twists his pen to give his hands something to do, to stop them from betraying how anxious he is. He catches Ushijima’s eyes and, inexplicably, feels grounded. Like he'd taken anchor.

He hates it. 

“A crew pulled it off and we have the blueprint to do it again. It won’t be easy, but—” Kenma nods at his meagre audience, lets out a sigh, “—it’s not impossible.”

Kuroo pokes fun at Kenma’s lack of enthusiasm at least twice, but he does so fondly. And proudly, like it’s thanks to him that they’re now blessed with a point-man that might or might not be too devious for their own good.

Kei almost missed Kageyama’s brand of crazy instead. _Almost_.

.

Kei wakes up in Ushijima’s bed.

There’s coffee and a bagel on the bedside table. There’s a note telling him that Ushijima is on recon with Shirabu and that they’re meeting up with the rest of the crew for lunch later.

Kei crumples the note.

He doesn’t know what any of this means anymore.

.

“It would’ve been easier if I’d fallen in love with you.”

Kuroo looks up from his chicken sandwich, a smear of mustard at the corner of his mouth. Kei leans forward and swipes a thumb over it, careful not to touch the flattened line of Kuro’s lips. An elderly couple walks past, looking at them with an identical fond expression on their weathered faces. _Ah, to be young and in love_ , the expression says. Nostalgia paints everything in a better light. Kei cleans his hand with a serviette and wonders how many lifetimes he’ll have to live (how many times he’ll have to die) to put the ghosts inside his head to bed.

Kuroo wraps up the sandwich, appetite gone. “That’s a very selfish thing to say.”

Kei supposes it is. Kuroo doesn’t deserve his cruel hypotheticals, not after everything they’ve gone through. “Sorry, I’m not— I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Tsukki— _Kei._ ” Kuroo’s voice is pitched lower, a strained edge to it. Like he’s keeping himself back, but only just. “The only thing I want is for you to be happy.”

Across the street, Michael Obendorf walks out of the imposing monolith of Obendorf & Sons and into a waiting limousine. They get to their feet, Kei already slipping out his phone to inform Kenma about the mark’s movement. They see Ushijima and Shirabu in a black sedan, trailing after the limousine and they have approximately twenty minutes to get everyone ready. Kei hopes Akaashi had figured out the doses needed to keep their dreams stable, the deeper they go. None of them wants things to go sideways before they even get to the dreaming. Kei shoves the phone back into his pocket, checks his watch and starts for their car.

Kuroo grabs his forearm before he can get far and he glances back at the older man.

Kuroo asks, “Do you love him?”

Kei, because it’s imperative for him to remain contrary even with his heart trying to crawl out of his throat, asks right back, “Does it matter?”

.

Akiteru had said, “I don’t mind taking your place. It’s an easy job and I know these guys.”

Akiteru had said, “I’ll be back before Christmas.”

Kei still hasn’t forgiven him for lying.

.

Two levels down, Kei gets shot in the guts pushing Kenma out of the way after an altercation with Michael’s trained projections. He hears Kuroo yelling at them through the hallway, wanting to know what had happened. The bullet hole doesn’t show on his dark suit and the blood seeps right through, blending in. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, probably the after-effect of the drug that’s keeping them under and he waves aside Kenma’s tight-lipped concern in favour of telling him to set up the PASIV. Ushijima and Shirabu are on their way, with Michael in tow, and Kuroo’s laying cover fire for them to relocate. They’re running out of time.

Ushijima rushes into the room, takes one look at Kei and curses.

Kei had never heard him curse before.

“We need to keep going,” Kei reminds everyone else, before Ushijima can get a word in. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

The joke falls flat.

Ushijima props Kei up against him, the hand around Kei’s waist gripping a bit too tight for comfort. He grits out, under his breath so nobody else can hear them, “Why are you always getting shot?”

Kei lets out a short wheeze of laughter as he’s fed a needle for their next descent. “ _Why_ , Ushijima Wakatoshi-san. How else am I supposed to get your attention?”

Ushijima’s lips thin into a severe line. Kei opens his mouth to apologise (maybe), but Ushijima says, “Don’t die.”

Kei shuts his mouth. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

Three levels down, Kuroo leaves the pool room with Michael, making a beeline for the last part of the plan before the idea is fully ingrained, and Kei has to wait for the door to close behind the two before he crumples to his knees. His breath is getting shallower, hitching with every other inhale and Ushijima’s hands are a steady pressure where they’re pressed against the hole in Kei’s stomach. He’s trying to stem the blood flow as much as he can, but Kei can tell that it’s too late to do anything. His fingers slide against Ushijima’s wrist, leaves a dark carmine imprint on the skin there.

Kei counts each breath he takes, narrows his entire world down to Ushijima.

“My brother would’ve liked you, I think,” he murmurs, hates how bitter regret tastes like.

“I’ll find you.” Ushijima leans down, lips brushing against Kei’s forehead. It’s the first time Kei hears the barbwire coil of fear in Ushijima’s voice. “Doesn’t matter how long it takes, so wait for me, alright? I promise—”

Kei closes his eyes and slides under.

.

_There’s a knock on the front door. Once, then a couple more. Kei looks away from the crossword puzzle, forehead creasing. Kei moves slowly from the table and each step he takes brings him closer to the door._

_Akiteru walks out of the kitchen. There’s a smile on his face, crinkling his eyes with it. It’s a touch sad, somehow, and Kei stops to stare at his brother._

_“It’s time,” Akiteru says. He leans against the doorway, stares at Kei with this incomprehensible, wistful look that makes Kei’s heart clench. “I’ve been around long enough inside here that you should let me go. And move on.”_

_Kei swallows thickly. “Aki—”_

_The knocking gets louder, has taken a somewhat frantic cadence the longer it goes on and he thinks about who might be on the other side. If he even wants to know._

_“I love you, Kei. I’ll always do.”_

_Akiteru nods at him, gently urging, and when Kei musters the courage to open the door, he feels tears running down his cheeks. The young man looking back at him has a hand half-raised. He’s dark-haired and wild-eyed, brows furrowed into a frown. A thin layer of snow has already accumulated over his dove grey suit and it’s inadequate for the season. Out of place. His face stirs something inside Kei’s head, in that deep, murky place he no longer traverses._

_Kei gets out a stilted “Who—” before he’s cut off._

_“Kei.” In his surprise to hear his name coming from a stranger, he doesn’t see the gun. It’s small mercy, he’d think later. “Kei, you need to wake up. Now.”_

_Kei glances back and Akiteru is no longer there._

.

Kei wakes up.

Kei wakes up and sees Ushijima peering down at him, the look of stark relief on the other man’s face making him wonder if he’s still dreaming. There’s no reason for Ushijima to look at him like that, unless—

Unless—

Ushijima’s thumb brushes his cheekbone. “Welcome back.”

.

**end**

.


End file.
